That Machine Gun Exhaust Sound - May 12

Saturday, May 12th

First project of today is to clean the muffler the chemical way. This is done on the outskirts of the next town, where likely nobody will raise hell about it. The bike appears to run better, but is noisy like hell, because the connection between cylinder and manifold - treads already worm down pretty bad - has gotten loose, and the exhaust sounds like a machine gun. The first try fixing it works for 25 miles, where Travis and I ride at 80-90 kph. Then the exhaust is loose again, and it's back to the drawing board.

An auto supply store provides a hopefully usable gasket material, but in order to make time both bikes get into the motorhome's trailer. Not quite a dignified way of going, but the repair is best made at a campsite or RV park, instead of  in this auto store parking lot. And thus I get to see Black Canyon of The Gunnison National Park through the windscreen of a Mercedes van* instead of from my motorcycle, which of course means I can sit back and relax while somebody else is keeping his eyes on the road. Even with Grand Canyon and the other sights in fresh memory, I still am deeply impressed by what I see.

* Having a camper van with a trailer and an extra bike follow is a neat way to go, and in this case a necessity. Were I to ride a Nimbus up gravel roads all the way to - say - Alaska, its only 'luggage' would be a shotgun mounted down the front fork, military H-D WLA style, and everything else would be somewhere behind me on four wheels. 

Eventually we find the 'senior RV park' of Gunnison, where the manager steps out of his Airstream camper: "Are you over 55?" be barks. "All three of us". "Any dogs?". "No". "Any kids?" "No". And so we are accepted, drive to a spot on the gravel, unload the bikes and start working. It's dark by the time we're done, a heat gun having helped hardening the gasket a bit quicker than he prescribed 24 hours. Then we call it a day and head for a good restaurant.

Travis at the bistro in Gunnison, with its Mucha (inspired?) painting on the wall.

The van sleeps two people, so I check in at the very, very rustic Long Holiday Motel, with a heavy-set, semi-creepy East European manager. Not quite Norman Bates, but still...